In All Fairness
by drakontion
Summary: Catching up on old works. This was one I wrote for a Bioware competition a while ago... didn't win :P


"It's not fair," I muttered to the floor, with which I was becoming intimately acquainted. Suds and errant bristles from my brush settled on the flagstones, which were, as always, supremely uncaring. I gritted my teeth and scrubbed at them some more.

I was _supposed_ to be studying. I was _supposed_ to be researching some of the finer aspects of Hexes. But no, here I was scrubbing floors instead, all because I happened to be roommates with Kiara, who'd gotten caught _yet again_ with Mattias in her bunk. Because she'd told the templars I'd arranged for my research to go awry, luring them downstairs so the lovers could have their... tryst.

"Hmph." I grumbled, scraping at a ground-in stain of dubious origin. "It's not fair. Not fair!"

"No talking!" boomed the templar from his post by the door.

I sighed and kept scrubbing, cursing Kiara, and templars, and the vagaries of Vulnerability Hexes on rabbits, and my own stupid gullibility.

Many, _many_ hours later, I was called to the First Enchanter's office. Wringing my poor, wrinkled hands together, I presented myself at his door.

"Jada. Come in." First Enchanter Irving's deep, normally calming voice was doing nothing of the sort today.

"You wanted to see me, ser?"

"Yes. Please sit."

He watched me as I sat, smoothing my robes nervously over my knees to try and hide the stained patches from my scrubbing penances.

"Jada. You should know that there are... some... who have expressed their doubts over your ability to... manage yourself should we let you proceed with your studies."

I blinked, shocked. "But... But... If I don't proceed..."

He held up a hand, palm as wrinkled as mine. "I said some, Jada, not all. I believe that you will one day be a fine enchanter. One day. You do, however, have a distressing tendency to... follow the lead of others. And that will never do."

I nodded, hanging my head so I could better hide the tears welling in my eyes.

The First Enchanter sighed quietly, and his chair creaked as he shifted. "I suppose I should just be thanking the Maker that you're not of an age to have helped Anders," he mused, and then his voice firmed.

"The templars will not thank me, but you have this chance to prove yourself, apprentice. Be strong. Do not fail me, or yourself. I have faith in you." He paused and I dared a glance up. His face was kindly, understanding, and he smiled at me sympathetically. In a much gentler tone he added, "Now go, off to bed with you."

"Thank you, ser," I murmured, and made my escape.

In the cool dark of my room I bundled myself into my blankets, pressing my face into the pillow, and let myself cry. It wasn't _fair_! One mistake! Well, maybe more than one... There _was_ that time I let Erik talk me into letting him copy my Healing assignment, only to get caught by Enchanter Wyron; and that time Moira and Layla persuaded me to join them on a midnight snack run to the kitchen which turned into a templar hide-and-seek adventure, only without the fun; and that time Garrick asked me to mind his book, which turned out to be the one he'd stolen from Senior Enchanter Sweeney's room, only it was heavily laced with lyrium dust which drew templars like moths to a candle flame; and that time...

I hiccupped into my pillow, tasting tears and feathers. Maybe, just _maybe_, the First Enchanter had a point. I just wanted people to _like_ me. I thought if I helped people...

I sniffed, and rolled over onto my back, looking up into the darkness. The First Enchanter was right. It still wasn't fair, but I didn't want to die, or be made Tranquil. I shuddered.

"I promise," I whispered solemnly, "I promise I'll be strong. And I'll be an Enchanter. One day. I promise."

"Whuzzah?" muttered Kiara sleepily from her blankets in the bunk above mine.

For a month, I was good.

I stayed in the library, mostly, studying in an out of the way corner: avoiding the librarian and various enchanters, avoiding apprentices looking to involve me in their plots, and staying _well_ out of the reach that odd, fussy mage with the immaculate robes. Of course, then everyone started leaving for Ostagar, which made it easier.

It was the longest, most boring, most depressing month ever. It was the hardest month of my life. Not because I was being good, or strong, or anything like that.

Because I was alone.

For a month, I didn't speak to anyone except teachers and templars, and only when I absolutely had to. For a month, I didn't look at anyone, except poor Owain as he pottered around the stockroom, as a warning. For a month I ate my meals an hour before the other apprentices so I wouldn't be drawn into their devices and plans. For a month I cried myself to sleep most every night, from sheer frustration and fear and loneliness.

I longed for just a casual conversation, a bit of a joke; my heart ached every time a pair of apprentices would sneak off into the pantry together or some small, familiar gesture would be made between friends. And when the whispers started, the wondering; I ran and hid, so they wouldn't draw me back out.

I would be good. I would be strong. But it wasn't _fair_.

When the templar's gauntleted hand fell on my shoulder in the middle of the night, waking me from an uncomfortable dream, I was grateful. Not only for the simple human contact to remind me of the fact that I was real, but because my ordeal was over. Finally. I didn't need to be good any more, or strong.

I dressed hurriedly, eager to be out of there, and fairly jogged up the stairs to the Harrowing Chamber. The templars' armour clanked loudly as they quick marched up after me in a macabre sort of race. We burst into the chamber and the First Enchanter looked up at me in surprise.

"Jada! That was... quick."

Knight-Commander Greagoir pushed forward out of the gloom and stared at me intently. "Entirely _too_ quick, I would say. Are you sure that this apprentice is ready, Irving?"

I ducked my head, trying to look properly awed, instead of just relieved. There was silence for a moment.

"She is ready, Greagoir. I am sure of it."

Greagoir grunted. I peeked up, composing my face, and he gestured to the middle of the room, where the song of lyrium pulsed through the air from a strangely carved pedestal. It was softly glowing, sweetly singing, a delicate tracery of energy that shimmered and tingled against my skin; heady and intoxicating and dangerous. I looked up at Irving through the blue radiance.

Irving nodded at me reassuringly and then Greagoir spoke again, his words heavy and ritualistic. Good words, I was sure. I ignored them.

I swallowed in the expectant silence after he finished. "I am ready," I whispered.

The First Enchanter studied me for a moment. "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you." He paused, then added: "Be strong, apprentice."

I nodded and stepped forward, plunging my hands into the lyrium font, and the world exploded in cerulean fire.

I'd been in the Fade many times before, as all apprentices had, but this time it was different. Maybe it was the lyrium coursing through me, but now it felt stronger, more real. My will felt deeper, more commanding. I felt more... powerful. I thought for a moment, wondering what I needed, defenceless and alone. Well, the alone I was familiar with, now, but defenceless... that I could do something about.

Concentrating, I raised my arms, palms facing upwards, and willed a staff to appear. The air thickened and coalesced above my hands until there was a tiny wrench, a minute drain of the lyrium within me, and a shiny steel staff dropped into my waiting fingers. Its curve was warm, familiar, seductive; it was made for my grip. It settled into my hand like a comfortable glove. I hefted it and grinned.

Newly armed, I took a breath and looked around. Overhead the usual strange islands floated, connected by twining tendrils. In my lyrium-enhanced state I could see further into the brightly shining sky than ever before, far enough to discern an infinity of islands stretching away forever.

That startled me back into duty. I needed to find my demon and conquer him, not spend so long wandering the Fade that the templars would execute my body, trapping my spirit here for eternity. I shuddered and strode forward in search of my demon, over ground that subtly shifted beneath my feet, organic and inorganic strangely combined and not at all unappealing.

Wisp wraiths haunted the twisting paths but with my new staff I defeated them easily. A Spirit of Valour beckoned me, glowing and ethereal, but I ignored him and continued on, looking for _my_ challenge, _my_ demon. The paths twisted, winding, meandering - was I lost? I broke into a run, past a failed apprentice who wailed as I passed, resolutely ignoring his cries though they tugged at me viscerally. I kept running, growing more and more frantic. The lyrium seeped through my veins, trickling through seconds, minutes... hours? I was running out of time.

Panting, I came upon a tiny, warped pergola and sank onto a stone bench. Where was my demon. Why could I not find him? Was it all a trick? It wasn't _fair_! I put my face into my hands and sobbed a little, bitterly frustrated.

"Oh, child," a soft voice breathed into my ear. My new staff warmed beneath my fingers and I looked up, startled.

"Mage child," said the voice again, soft and oh so very warm. "Why do you weep?"

My eyes darted around but I could see no one. "Um... because I'm going to die soon?"

"And why are you going to die?" whispered the voice.

"Because it's my Harrowing. And I haven't found my demon yet, and the templars will kill me, and I don't want to die!"

The voice laughed, a lovely tinkle that spread tiny pools of warmth through me. "Oh, child. Is it a demon you wish for then?"

I frowned. "Yes, of course. I need one. And stop calling me child."

There was a deep, husky chuckle. "Of course," said the voice, somehow... knowing, and I felt my cheeks heat, just a little.

"Tell me," said the voice, "you need a demon. What do you need a demon for? For what purpose? How will a demon help you? Tell me your woes, little mageling."

I paused, but it had been _so long_ since I'd talked to anyone; and the voice was so calm, so confident, so confiding... just talking could not hurt, surely? And so I told the voice all of what had happened: the looming threat of death or worse than death, about my studies, my fellow apprentices, my Harrowing. The voice cooed at the right moments, made comments here and there, approved and flattered, cajoled and suggested, until I felt glowing and loved and wanted.

"So," I concluded, "I need to defeat a demon so I can pass my Harrowing and become an Enchanter, and then, _then_ I'll be able to have friends again, and no one will make fun of me, and I won't be alone."

"Mmm," said the voice. "That is a worthy goal indeed."

I nodded. "All I need now is a demon."

There was that silvery tinkling laugh again. "Oh, little mageling. You already called your demon. Did you not know?" My Fade-wrought staff glowed in an iridescent violet haze and then my arm was wrapped instead around a tall, statuesque, remarkably naked woman - sort of.

"Oh, Maker," I said weakly.

She smiled, lips full an sensuous; and leaned against me, warm perfumed skin sparking a myriad of lyrium-borne sensations. I quivered and closed my eyes.

"Little mage," she whispered into my ear, voice deep and rich. "You've found your demon. I am yours... to do with as you will."

I cracked one eye open and looked at her. "Sooo... you aren't going to eat my soul?"

Soft, warm fingertips brushed over my cheek. "And why would I do that?"

"Isn't... that what demons do? Eat mages' souls?"

She laughed again and my stomach clenched... not unpleasantly. "Oh no. If I did that I'd be left here all alone. So sad, and so lonely. You know what it's like to be lonely, don't you?"

I nodded, remembering. Oh yes. I knew.

"You don't want me to be all alone, do you, sweet mage?"

I shook my head. I would not wish that on anyone, demon or otherwise.

Her voice lowered and her balmy, sweet breath played over my earlobe. "Then take me with you. I'm _ever_ so lonely. Take me back with you, my darling, don't leave me here."

She pressed herself into me, lavender skin contrasting prettily with my robes, her soft flesh silky smooth, pliant and wonderful against me. Her fingers danced over my face, my neck, twined through my hair. Her lips settled against mine, plush and decadent, her honeyed tongue flickering, tiny sharp nips of teeth sending shivers down my spine.

I groaned, succumbing, lost. "Yes," I murmured. "Anything."

She smiled, her lips curving against mine. "My sweet darling," she sighed; and kissed me, devouring me, burning me; consuming my essence and making it her own, taking me into her and her into me, touching every part of me and me of her; twisting and twining us both together in an endless surge of want, need, passion, desire; spiralling further and further down, deeper and deeper, darker and darker, forever falling, forever together, forever loved...

And then I opened my eyes and First Enchanter Irving was looking down at me, concern in his wrinkled face. I heard a steely slither as swords were slid back into scabbards, and sat up, sore and stretching.

"Thank the Maker," he said. "I thought we'd lost you."

I looked around. All was as it was before. The room was still gloomy, the templars were still ominous. Nothing had changed. I felt... cheated.

"Go rest," said the First Enchanter kindly. "We have new quarters for you. Ser Ivan here will take you."

I nodded dumbly and turned around, shivering in the sudden cold of the stone tower. As I followed the templar's broad back down the spiral stairs, warmth bloomed in my chest, slow at first, then spreading out to my limbs until my head sang with a heady tingling, not unlike the song of lyrium, of the Fade.

"_Oh, yes_," exulted the demon within me as I trod meekly in the templar's wake. "_Oh, this will do nicely_."

And we smiled, slowly and sweetly. _Now_ it was fair.


End file.
